


Flower of His Heart

by earthspirits



Series: Demimonde of Shadows - Stories Set in the World of Penny Dreadful [2]
Category: Penny Dreadful TV, penny dreadful - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Dr Frankenstein, F/M, Frankenstein - Freeform, Friendship, Hope, Hope vs. Despair, Horror, John Clare - Freeform, Male-Female Friendship, Penny Dreadful - Freeform, Penny Dreadful S3 spoilers in this story, Romance, Star-crossed love, Tragedy, True Love, Vanessa Ives - Freeform, classic horror, death and the grieving process, devoted friendship, post traumatic stress syndrome, victor frankenstein - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthspirits/pseuds/earthspirits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A grieving John Clare vows to save the only friend he's ever had - The woman who has always been enthroned in his most secret heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flower of His Heart

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Contains MAJOR Penny Dreadful S3 spoilers. 
> 
> Rating: Mature - As this story alludes to death and the grieving process. May be triggering for some.

Night had fallen, and it had started to rain. John Clare ignored the chill water dripping down the back of his neck, cascading from his long black hair onto his pallid skin. His knees were starting to ache, but he stubbornly ignored the pain, continuing to stare numbly at the raw mound of freshly heaped earth. It seemed unbelievable that he would never see her sweet smile, or gaze into the blue depths of her eyes, or hear that kindly raspy voice again. 

He thought of his dead son - his small body floating through an eternity of dark water, the thin white fabric of his winding cloth fluttering like the wings of a lost dove, as the Thames took his boy from him. He stifled a sob.

Leaning forward, John gently picked up one of the lilies that adorned Vanessa's grave. As he sniffed the delicate fragrance, her face - pale and perfect as the flower - rose in his mind's eye. Almost immediately, superimposed over this vision, he saw her with her lovely raven hair shorn, her countenance strained and frightened. As the memory swept through him, he cried out and almost fell, realizing with sudden clarity just who Vanessa Ives had really been to him. He saw and remembered it all. The asylum - a room of bleak whiteness and solitude - a frozen wasteland where society caged those who were different. He could see himself - the self that he once was - his heart breaking, holding her fragile body in his arms, as she wept, her tears mingling with his. How desperately he wanted her to live, to be whole. His dearest friend. At the end, she had pressed her slim naked form against his body, her lips - tasting of honeyed nectar - pressed feverishly to his. It had taken all of his strength to put her from him. And yet - despite his innate loyalty to his wife - he knew, in that moment, that he loved Vanessa. Would always love her. 

Another sob escaped him.

How could this brave and compassionate woman be dead? It was _wrong_ \- so very, very wrong. 

Hidden, he had listened at the funeral - knew that it was really Dracula who had ultimately caused her death, had caused the death of so many - with the monsters of the night roaming loose, and the deadly toxic fog. The fog that had hastened the death of his lad - And the death finally, of his marriage. Yet, he had done the right thing. Saved his little child from an existence that he - at such an innocent age - would never have been able to comprehend, much less survive.

A frown crossed his scarred face, and then, slowly, transformed into a faint smile. Perhaps there was light at the end of this tunnel after all. 

He had failed his son and wife - he would _not_ fail Vanessa.

The cemetery at this time of night was empty, save for himself, and a lone nightingale perched in a nearby ilex tree. Abruptly, the bird broke into song - the exquisite outpouring of its voice a sign of hope.

With a look of almost savage determination, John Clare started to dig, his bare hands bleeding as he scrabbled fiercely at the muddy soil and rocks of the grave.

After what seemed an eternity, he reached the ebony wood of her coffin. The rain pattered against its smooth surface, washing away the dirt that had fallen on it from the crumbling sides of the grave. For the span of a heartbeat, he stared down. Was he making the correct choice? Did he even have the right to make such a choice for her? Dare he not? He thought again of her smile, that shy sweet smile. Of that one kiss they had shared, what seemed ages ago.

It took only moments for him to gently remove the beautiful shell of her body from the coffin. She seemed as if only sleeping. Lifting her into his arms, John prayed - he, who had never before believed. Tears glinting in his golden eyes, he pressed a brief kiss to her forehead. Her skin felt cold and waxen. Vanessa, who had always been so warm, so vividly alive, even in the depths of her madness and despair. Swallowing the bitterness of his grief, he shook his head. He was not doing this for himself - it was for _her_. It mattered not, if afterwards, they parted ways - if she never saw or spoke to him again. She must love where and with whom she wished, travel the wide world, live the life that had been stolen from her. To finally be happy.

With his precious burden held carefully in his arms, he left the churchyard, without a single backward glance. 

*****

Ignoring the pelting rain, John stood before the old abandoned warehouse, hesitating before the barred door. Taking a deep breath, he knocked firmly on its splintered wood. Knocked again. Finally, he heard - on the other side - shuffling footsteps. A few minutes more, and the door swung open, to reveal a wan ravaged face. 

"What are you doing here?" Victor mumbled. His eyes widened as he realized just who was so reverently clasped in John Clare's arms. Awed, the young scientist gazed at Vanessa's peaceful features. A tear ran down his cheek, as he brushed aside a long strand of her rain-dampened hair.

"You can save her," John said simply. 

Victor looked up. For the first time since Vanessa's funeral, he felt a surge of hope. "Yes - yes, I can - _we_ can." He stepped aside, gesturing for John to enter.

John Clare smiled, and holding Vanessa's still body close to his heart, crossed the threshold, finally home.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Disclaimers:_ Obviously Penny Dreadful, and its characters, as well as the characters of classic horror literature and film, belong to their respective creators / writers / networks, etc. I'm just a devoted fan playing in their sandbox, and make no profit, etc.


End file.
